Lost and Found
by JassyIsSherlocked
Summary: Nothing was going right for Elora. Her curiosity was always her worst fault and it didn't earn her many friends. So when a new teacher arrives at her school after a trail of murders, something doesn't seem right for her. Elora manages to find a lot of things out about 'Mr Bates' without even trying, and soon, she puts herself, him and his flatmate in a lot of danger. SHxOC
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, so I ****_had _****to re-write this, I felt that when I wrote it originally, I didn't put as much 'oomph' into it as I could have. **

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**Prologue - Elora.**

_And this is how it starts_  
_You take your shoes off in the back of my van_  
_Yeah my shirt looks so good, when it's just hanging off your back_  
_And she said use your hands in my spare time_  
_We've got one thing in common, it's this tongue of mine_  
_She said_  
_She's got a boyfriend anyway_

_Twenty minutes before I drop you off_  
_All we seem to do is talk about sex_  
_She's got a boyfriend anyway_  
_She's got a boyfriend anyway_

_I loved your friend when I saw his film_  
_He's got a funny face_  
_But I like that 'cause he still looks cool_  
_She's got a boyfriend anyway_  
_She's got a boyfriend anyway_

_Now we're on the bed in my room_  
_And I'm about to fill his shoes_  
_But you say no_  
_You say no_  
_Does he take care of you_  
_Or could I easily fill his shoes?_  
_But you say no_  
_You say no._

_~ Sex by The 1975._

The new Phy_s_ics teacher - Mr Bates, apparently, but I didn't believe him for one second - had already been nicknamed 'Satan', apparently. Yeah, he was harsh, but he wasn't _that _bad.

Somehow, he seemed to know almost everything about everyone, a little like me. Instead of dishing out detentions for bad behavior, he would simply get the offending students to the front of the class where he would stare at them for a bit, then tell everyone who they had slept with the night before or something.

He also was known to dish out 'incredibly hard' homework projects, I found them fine but apparently no one else did, and thus, Mr Bates' nickname was born.

Personally I thought that Satan was even more harsh than telling everyone how Emily and Patrick had a thing going on, but 'Mr Bates' didn't seem fussed.

"I mean," I paused as I tweaked the fifth shirt I had changed into that morning. That was one of the downsides of being in six form and no longer having to wear a uniform to school, you could never find the right clothes. "He's not _that _bad, Emm." I said, finally giving up and just putting on an old faded t-shirt, winter boots, a thick jumper that my dad gave me after it shrunk in the wash and a pair of jeans.

"Are you kidding me? Like, okay, he's alright looking but his personality just over weighs it all," one of my only friends scoffed from the other end of the phone. "Like, how did he even know I had done that with Pat?"

I had a good idea how he'd known, I had noticed the minute I saw the two of them but I couldn't be sure if he had realised like I had.

"Well... you had some-"

"Don't even! Seriously Lor, _don't _go into detail again, please." I groaned a bit.

Looking in the mirror made me frown a lot, I never really wanted to spend too long in front of one because it was like a constant reminder that I wasn't as pretty as most of the other girls in my year.

"Alright, well, I'll see you at school."

I glanced across at my reflection. My long brownish blonde hair hung lamely against my dark green cable knit jumper, my eyes were a hazel colour which I actually liked, I was an average height, I just looked quite plain really. My cheekbones and collarbones were slightly visible but usually only in the summer when I wasn't as hungry as I was in the cold winter weather.

"Bye."

"Baaaahhyyyy."

I hung up first and fell back onto my bed, burying my head into my pillows and groaning unhappily. I looked awful, I felt awful and both my best friend and boyfriend had the I.Q's of a potatoes.

It was safe to say that I wasn't very happy with my life.

My mum was pretty much screaming at my from three floors down, luckily I couldn't hear her from my bedroom in the attic, but I knew she would be coming upstairs in around thirty seconds if I remembered correctly from the morning before.

_1...2...3..._ just on cue I heard her running up the stairs, then she pushed the heavy old door open and frowned at my. She gracefully waltzed across my room to the french windows where she pulled the curtains open and tutted slightly.

Mum didn't speak to me at all, she just rummaged around my bedroom aimlessly before turning to me.

"Get up." she snapped.

This happened every single morning.

I got off of my bed and frowned at her.

"What?"

"Where were you last night?"

"I was nowhere."

"Oh really?"

"Yes really, I was up until one in here studying."

"I should have known by the stench..." she muttered, with not a trace of 'I'm just kidding' on her face.

Not a day went by without me wanting to scream at my mother. It was like she just chose to give birth to me so that she could tear my dreams of being a pop star when I was just ten to shreds and just bother me and accuse me of things that I didn't do.

I was about to lose it, and I wasn't in the mood for it on that particular day, so I leaped to my desk, shoved my things into my black messenger bag, swung it over my shoulder then grabbed a grey woolen hat and matching scarf. I left my house ignoring my mum's screaming.

I put on a brave face as I slammed the front door behind my back, this was how every day began and ended to be honest, and I hated it, but I had to live with it.


	2. Chapter 2

My head would continuously snap up to look at the clock all the way through Physics. I hated the class so much, and just wanted to get out of the big suffocating building that they called a 'school'. I can't tell you how often I wished my mum was a bit nicer and home schooled me.

"Elora, are you paying attention?" Mr Bates snapped at me, I chewed on my bottom lip.

"No sir."

A small smirk flickered across his lips, I knew what was coming, in fact, everyone in the class did. I was one of the very few who's past hadn't been read or whatever by Mr Bates, but that was about to change.

"Don't." I said, sounding a lot more threatening than I usually sounded.

"Don't what?"

"Don't deduce me or seduce me or whatever you call it because, holy crap, it's annoying and not professional at all."

There was silence all around me, then a few people started giggling slightly.

Mr Bates just turned back around and started writing things out on the wipe board that I didn't think anyone could understand. Something inside me felt guilty beyond belief, mlhe was clearly pretty messed up in the head - just like I was.

When class had finished, I made sure to walk slowly so I could just talk to him.

"I believe you owe me a detention slip." I said quietly as I pushed my test paper towards him. "Or whatever it is you do."

He swiped the paper away from me, I frowned a little.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I-I just... I'm a little angry some of the time, I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't upset me." he scoffed. I felt my cheeks burning slightly.

"Right, great, okay... Bye I guess..." I bit my tongue.

_Stop talking, Elora._

Just as I opened the door to leave the classroom, I heard him.

"I suggest you fix things with your mother before she kicks you out."

My small, pained laugh echoed through the classroom.

"Thanks for that." then I left.

**Sherlock **

In the taxi back to 221b, Sherlock's mind flickered to Elora. She had stared at him a lot, and either she was just a stupid teenage girl with an incredibly low I.Q who happened to like him a bit too much, or she was trying to deduce him. Possibly both.

Sherlock scolded himself. Nobody was like him, he was one of a kind.

As he got into the flat, he immediately fell down onto the sofa, purposefully, of course.

He glanced around the flat, John's laptop was left open, so he was obviously at home otherwise he would of turned it off and possibly even put it away. He couldn't risk anyone looking on there.

"Oh, hello Sherlock, how was school?" John asked him, emerging from his bedroom. Ever since Sherlock had taken on the case, John had been using this 'joke' if you could even call it that.

For the first few seconds, Sherlock ignored his blogger, but he spoke up after a little while. "Still no closer to solving the case. If those idiots could just give me _one second _to myself then I would be done." he groaned.

He couldn't believe that he was admitting this to himself, but it was harder than he had thought.

**Elora.**

Usually, when school had finished I would just go back home and await the endless verbal abuse. However, this time I decided to do some 'investigating'.

I trusted Mr. Bates even less. He seemed almost too clever to teach, if you get what I mean.

I had decided to hide outside the school and wait for him to come out of the school, then I could secretly follow him home just to see where he lived, also, I would be away from home for longer so that meant less time having to face my mum, or possibly more if I took too long.

Everything in my life usually revolved around mum. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything because she didn't trust me, which was another ridiculous thing about her opinion on me. I was literally one of the most safety cautious people out there, I got worried quite a lot and I would almost never do anything stupid or embarrassing on purpose.

My life felt like one huge mistake. I was a mistake, I ripped everyone apart, I was like a hurricane.

Just as my head drifted off into 'self-pity' mode, I noticed Mr. Bates walking out of the school and I carefully followed him, slowly walking behind trees.

I watched as he got into a taxi and it drove away with him inside. I followed it for a while before my phone started ringing. I groaned, causing many passersby to stare at me. It was mum.

"Mum, I'm on my way home-"

But in stead of her normal screeching voice, I heard her breathing heavily.

"Help me." she choked out.

Immediately, I stopped running. A wave of panic flushed over my body, sending chills down my spine.

"Mum what's wrong?"

But she had hung up.


	3. Chapter 3

I ran home listing a whole job load of things that could've happened to her and none of the were good.

Neither was what had actually happened.

As I reached my home, I began frantically digging through my school bag for the small ring of keys I owned. After a little while I found them, then stood on my doorstep as I shoved one of them into the lock.

"Come on..." I whispered quietly.

You may be wondering why I cared so much for my mum, if she didn't create for me. But the idea of her possibly being taken from the world was worrying. Sometimes you can't stop yourself become attached to things or people who despise you.

As the door finally swung open, I barely had enough time to think before I screamed.

My mother was dead, I knew because the minute the door was open, her lifeless body fell out onto me.

I wasn't sure whether to be terrified, upset or completely disgusted. Maybe I was all three of them, I just didn't know it was possible for someone to feel so much at once.

Something that struck me hard at the time was the guilt. I felt that I hadn't given her a chance, I had been such a - of want of a better word - bitch to her since I could remembered. She returned the favour I suppose, but she was also dead.

Tears! Actual tears were rolling down my cheeks and dripping onto my coat as I pushed her corpse off of my body.

I didn't know what to do, first I tried to recover from some of the stress, then I phoned the police, then, once they had arrived, I called my dad.

"Dad..." I had said, already picturing his reaction in my mind.

"Evening Lor." he said, sounding like he couldn't be bothered breathing anymore, and I hadn't even told him about mum at that point.

"Look, someone... S-someone killed mum..." my face was soaking again. I wiped the tears then continued. "The police are coming... Can you get off work early please?"

There was silence, then I heard him discussing something with someone else.

"I'm on my way."

Then we both hung up and I sat inside feeling quite confused and hurt. _What was I supposed to do with my mum?_ I just left her on the floor, for evidence or something.

For a brief moment in time, I forgot about Satan and school and my theories and things. It was just me, sobbing into my rather dry palms against the kitchen table as I waited for someone to arrive.

And arrive they did.

Three police cars pulled up outside my house and an ambulance, which was ridiculous in my opinion. She was already dead.

Then I got my first proper glance at my mum.

She looked battered to say the least. Two stab wounds- one in her stomach, the other in her left shoulder. Her once oft auburn hair had been chopped off (clearly for effect) in random places and her face was covered in her dried blood. Eventually I had to turn away, I felt sick.

A man named Greg Lestrade took me to the living room and sat me down on the sofa, then explained something about me being a suspect, which was stupid in my opinion, but I guessed it stood to reason. Then he told me that some detective man named Sherlock Holmes would be coming around in a little while.

My dad arrived and pushed past the tape blocking our doorway, then the officers who stopped him, shouting "She's my wife!" with more worry, panic and sadness than I ever thought I would hear in his voice.

To be honest, dad never really cared much for mum. Their love had fizzled out long ago, but that didn't stop him from crying over her dead body, then coming to see me.

He enveloped me in a hug which ended after a massive two awkward seconds.

"I'm so, so sorry..." he whispered, kissing the top of my head. I felt his tears mix with my hair, I wanted to break away from him but I didn't want to make him more upset.

"It's okay..." I said quietly.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, keep saw "Mr. Bates", a man who I didn't recognise at his side.

It took a damn whole lot of willpower not to jump up and shout "I knew it!" because what did I know? That he was a fake. Yeah.

"Good evening Elora." he said, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips. My dad let gp of me finally and I looked up at Sherlock Holmes and smirked back.

"I knew it." I whispered, just loud enough to be heard by him and myself, perhaps my dad and the other man, but only if their hearing was good, and I knew dad's wasn't.

**Hey, soooooo, feedback would be lurverly! A great big thank you to wait-till-you-read-book-seven for reviewing on the last chapter. :)**

**- Jasmine x**


	4. Chapter 4

I was sobbing.

I had no idea how it happened or why I just started to cry after saying "I knew it," but I did.

My dad guided me to the sofa and sat me down again. Wait, when was I standing up? I couldn't remember anything, it just happened. I felt weak.

"Shush." he said gently, but I didn't stay quiet, not even the kindest and softest of words could calm me down. He pulled me into his chest and I sobbed violently, so much that I almost felt sick. Someone passed me some water and said something that I couldn't quite hear to me, I grabbed the water and gulped it down in one, the ice cold drink settled in my stomach and I tried to calm down, this time I managed.

I wiped my eyes as I set the glass down on the table and laughed quietly.

"I'm such an idiot." I said. "I look like such an idiot."

If you ever think you're embarrassed about something, try crying and looking like a madwoman in front of your dad and a load of police officers and detectives of whatever the hell they were, then tell me that it was more embarrassing to fall into a puddle on your way home from school.

After awhile of interrogating and awkward sobbing, the man called Greg Lestrade let us get our stuff and told us that we would have to leave the house for a few days while they sorted everything out and questioned the neighbours, dad and I.

"Oh god Lestrade, don't be ridiculous." Sherlock, Mr. Bates or Satan said. To be honest, I didn't have a clue about what he was called anymore. Greg sighed.

"What is it now Sherlock?" I found it funny because I could almost picture Lestrade as Sherlock's dad.

"She is sixteen, she barely knows where babies coke from, let alone how to kill someone like that." he motioned to where my mum's body lay. I frowned at him.

"Actually, I do know where babies come from. There's a small door on your stomach, right? And they emerge through the door to your belly button where they suddenly- Pop out!" I rolled my eyes, placing my hands on my hips. "My mother may have just been murdered but that doesn't make me anymore weak and stupid." I raised an eyebrow at him, he frowned.

"Sarcasm is the lowest format of wit." he purses his lips and turned to Lestrade. "See? She's dull, she wouldn't think up anything like this."

* * *

I probably should have thanked Sherlock Holmes for getting me out of some sort of questioning, and I would have, had he not offended me while doing so.

The things in my room were completely messed up so I had no idea where to find anything. I slowly shoved my clothes into a suitcase, then my laptop, ipod, phone and chargers into another bag, then my school stuff in another and I was just about to leave the room when I noticed a picture sitting on my dressing table.

It must have been about ten years old, but I couldn't really remember. It was a picture of my mum, dad, godmother, and I on holiday in Australia. My mum had been wearing a floral print long summer dress, big black bug-like sunglasses and a straw sunhat. Dad's arm was around her waist and his left arm around Mary (my godmother's) shoulder and mum had me hoisted up onto her hip, despite me being six.

Really, I should have been smiling at the memory, but I was frowning. What had happened? We had all turned so dysfunctional and different in just ten years. A scream slipped my mouth as I tossed the picture against the wall in front of me, the glass on the front of it shattered and the picture tore. I walked away.

"You ready?" dad asked me as I emerged from my room. He smiled sadly at me, and I could almost read his mind.

_"How could this mess be my daughter?" _was what he was thinking, but what he said was, "Come on then, we're going to stay with Mary for a while."

Mary Morstan, my godmother, was my mum's best friend's daughter and not as old as you would think, what with her name being Mary and her title being godmother. She was actually only twenty five.

"Okay, sounds good." I was staring at the carpet, I sighed a bit. "Does she know?"

"Yes, I just phoned her. She was very upset."

"Okay."

We walked down the stairs then dad went to talk to Lestrade so I waited for him by the door.

"You should be thanking me." I glanced up to see Sherlock and I frowned at him.

"Did you get me a week off school?"

"No."

"Then I'm not thanking you."

John I think his name was chuckled from beside his friend.

"She _is _clever, Sherlock. You have to admit that."

"No she isn't, she is just good at talking."

"I'm not just 'she', I'm-"

"Elora! We have to go now." my dad said, passing me, I picked up my bags and smirked.

"I'm Elora."

**It's been a little while, but little whiles always seem like forever. No matter how long it's been.**

**Anyway, sorry for not updating for a while, I went on holiday! :D**

**Thank you tons to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited this, you all make me so happy.**


	5. Chapter 5

Three days had passed since my mother's death, people had been investigating, arranging the funeral and feeling rather depressed.

Clearly dad and Mary had noticed my change in mood, and they were invading my personal space.

"Are you sure you want to go to school today?" dad asked at breakfast over a few bowls of uneaten sugar puffs.

"Yeah I'm sure, dad." I pushed a slippery breakfast cereal piece around the china bowl, not looking up once in fearof them seeing the sadness in my eyes.

"Okay, well, you can phone me any time and tell me you can't take it." he told me as he got up, grabbed his cereal with almost too much force and drained the milk out into the sink then he tossed the soggy food in the bin.

"Got'cha." I said, getting up and pushing the kitchen chair under the table, Mary sent me a worried look, I just snapped my head away from her.

The truth was, I didn't want to go to school. I didn't want to go anywhere, I just wanted to sit around in my pyjamas doing nothing but thinking all day, however, if I did that then someone would be talking to me almost all of the time, and I couldn't deal with that.

At school, people just tended to leave me alone, so I left them alone. It was awful, but I loved it.

Course, I would still have to talk to people but it wouldn't be as tedious. I could simply pretend to tear up then go on about how painful it was to talk about. It wasn't. I just felt kind of lost without her being alive.

I walked to school despite the freezing weather turning my body into some kind of human icicle.

My eyes stayed glued to the frost covered pavement that crunched under the heavy soles of my combat boots. Winter was coming, or had already come. I wasn't quite sure.

I counted the cracks on the way there, there were fifty five. Then I counted all of the tin cans that littered the city, ten. Then, just as I was about to count the dog crap, I arrived at school.

The big mess of intimidating granite looked even less inviting than usual as I walked through the gates. My boyfriend, Nick, saw me straight away and rushed over with Em in tow.

"Oh god, are you alright, Lor?" Emily asked, almost throwing herself in my direction. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." I muttered. She pulled back and sighed a little.

"I know... I just..." she trailed off and frowned a little. "I need to urm... Call my... My... Dad?" and she ran away leaving me alone with Nick.

My hand slipped through my hair as I looked at him. He looked upset.

"She really did care about you, you know." he said, taking my hand in his, so I nodded my head and tried not to say anything. Talking usually got me into trouble, it had been proven.

The thing was, she didn't. It had been a long time since she cared, and I hated how everyone who I had seen since her murder told me that she loved me or cared about me because she didn't, they didn't understand what it was like at home, and I felt very selfish for thinking that way, but I couldn't stop myself because I knew if it was the other way around, if I had been killed and she came home at the wrong moment, simply to receive my dead body falling towards her, people would be saying the same things to her and she would feel the same.

"Can we just not talk about it, please?" I asked quietly, he nodded his head slightly and we walked into the school.

People stared, it felt awful, being the centre of attention.

"Has anything been said?" I asked Nick who hesitated, but shook his head.

"No, nothing you need to worry about." it was said too quickly for my liking, but I didn't ask him, I was too busy looking around at the people whose eyes seemed to be glued onto me. "Anyway, we'd better get to class."

I put on a brave face and nodded my head. "Yeah, we should." so we walked to English hand in hand, even though I suspected both of us just wanted to break our hands apart and run as far in the opposite direction as we could.

We were early for class, the teacher, Mrs. Jones, told us to sit down so we did. She was a scary woman and even the most reckless of people would listen to her. I wasn't sure what it was about her that was so terrifying, maybe her ice cold almond shaped eyes, of her wispy greying black hair. It was something.

For the entire class I did not look at anyone, I only said things when I was asked to, I must have transformed into some kind of model student that everyone detests.

Being interruptive and annoying no longer had a "buzz" with it, it just seemed flat and boring. I had lost my spark according to Mary.

The rest of the day was boring and tiring, more than usual in fact. I didn't do very well in any classes, especially not science.

"Elora are you paying attention?" Sherlock, Mr. Bates, Satan or whoever he was asked. His voice making me dig my nails into the palms of my hands.

"Yes sir." I hissed through ground teeth. Everyone was looking at me, I stared down at my work.

"Then what did I say?"

"I don't know."

"Well then."

"Well then," I replied, running a hand through my hair as I looked up at him. "Why don't you get back to testing the rest of the class before their brains die of brain neglect."

So he did, and I sat there, trying to pay attention but my mind just kept drifting off to some peaceful location that no one knew of.

After class everyone gathered their things up and left as per usual. Everything was the same, it was boring.

"Elora, come here please." Sherlock said as I walked towards the door. I sighed, shooting a longing glance towards the corridor but turning around, plastering my face with a fake smile and walking up to him.

"Yes?" I asked almost too happily. No, not almost, forget the almost.

"I know you want to know what I'm doing." he stacked the papers up on his desk.

"Yeah, and?"

"And I know you are more clever than most of the idiots in this class-"

"They're called teenagers."

"And you're not?"

"Well, yes, but I'm-"

"You're different. Yes, I have noticed."

"Wow," I said, running a hand through my hair that had dramatically thinned out since my mum died. "I don't know whether to be pleased or offended."

He smirked a bit. "It really depends on what you want to be."

"We're speaking in riddles now, are we?"

"No, I don't like riddles." he frowned a bit.

It was my turn to smirk. "Neither do I."

"Well that's certainly lucky isn't it."

"I suppose so." I bit my lip, looking at him, watching as he slowly picked through papers. "Do you know who did it? Who k-killed her, I mean."

"Yes I know who did it, I just don't know where they are."

"And you're trying to find them?" I pursed my list together as he nodded. "Well can I give you a piece of friendly advice? Don't get killed, you're the only person here who is actually fun to annoy." I grinned cheekily.

"I could say the same thing for you."

"But I'm not running around chasing after a creepy mass murderer."

"Oh Elora, I highly doubt you will be able to keep yourself away from it all. You rave adventure, something different and exciting to happen and you don't even care about the consequences, after all, you've got nothing left to live for."

I stared at him, not happy, not sad, not angry or confused. Simply expressionless. "No Sherlock, you're wrong there, I never had anything to live for anyway."

There was silence, two bodies containing reckless souls stared at eachother, nothing. Everything was gone, no one was in the room, nothing was there but us in a way.

"So will you join me?" he asked, surprising me.

"I would absolutely love to," I replied, surprising the both of us. "Best be off. See you whenever." then I left.

**Hey guys, sorry for not updating in a while, but I wrote a long ish chapter to make up for it. :)**

**Thank you to Me and hayleyb29 for the reviews and everyone else for the support. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

_Stop trying to act so strong, Elora. Because you're not. Your mother is dead, your father is disappointed in you and you are miserable, but not for the right reasons. You aren't upset because of what happened to your mum or how you disappointed your dad, you're upset because you're bored._

After school I met Sherlock in the "playground" but it wasn't very fun to play in, and the only people who usually used it were the eager year sevens, and they had all left by the time Sherlock arrived, in fact, even the head teacher had left.

"Fashionably late, eh?" I asked as he sat down next to me on one of the tired old swings. He didn't kick his legs up in the air and play on it like I did. He just sat.

"It seems so, but I wouldn't want to steal your thing." he smirked one of his signature sneery disgustingly clever smirks.

"My thing?"

"Well, you're a teenage girl who seems to go against the rules a. It too much, surely you must always be late."

"Okay then, how many times have I been late for class?"

"None." he admitted.

"Exactly. I may be annoyingly rebellious but please don't think that I would risk all I have for a little extra cool-ness." we fell silent. I stopped swinging because I suddenly felt about thirty years old and I could no longer do anything remotely childish, especially in front of _him. _

Sherlock muttered something about not thinking I was so keen about school that I brushed off before getting up then pulling him after me.

"We'd better get going." I said, gnawing on my nails as he nodded his head and we began to walk. "We're are we going?"

"To a café."

We stood outside a rather nice looking but small place somewhere in the middle of London. It was fairly empty and not the place that I thought Sherlock would choose, but then again I didn't think he'd pick out a café at all, in fact I doubted he even ate but I guess I was wrong there.

He opened the door for me and I slipped inside, looking around the tiny place.

"Well done Sherlock, you picked the most deserted place in all of London and officially managed to convince me that you are going to murder me."

"Thank you." he said sarcastically as we walked towards a table and sat down. He got out some papers and covered the surface with them, then he looked at me. "Are you sure you can handle this?" he asked, I grinned a little.

"Well done, you went from terrifying sociopathic scary man to kind and considerate within five seconds." he took that as a yes - which it was - and he showed me a bit of paper torn from a book.

"This is the list of victims so far." he said so me, I looked at it and nodded.

"Seems right-"

"Because it is."

He handed me the paper and I looked at it closely, there were four extra names.

_Poppy Streets_

_Aiden Joyce_

_Emily Lewis_

_Caterina Vey._

"But they aren't dead-"

"Yet."

"Then what are we going to do?" I asked him as I tried to tear my eyes away from Emily's name.

"Nothing." he said simply. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, it was like I had lost the power to do or say anything.

"But we can't just sit down and watch them die."

_Her die._

"I've grown up with them!"

_With her._

The thing was, no matter how badly I spoke about Emily, I didn't mean it. I loved her really.

She was loyal and kind, sort of like a rock that I could fall too and sob into if I was upset. I knew she wouldn't tell anyone, because, like me, she didn't have many people to tell.

I had known her since year one and we had been friends ever since, but I never told people that because it sounded soppy.

"Well, Elora, we are going to have to."

I bit my bottom lip gently, feeling tiny and scrutinised for sitting with him. I wasn't intimidated, just angry. The only thing that could wake me up from my trance was an annoying waitress who chose the wrong table to walk to.

"Can I help you?" she asked us. I frowned and groind my teeth together.

"Just a coke please." I muttered, she happily jotted it down onto her notepad.

"Oh-kay, anything for you, sir?" Sherlock shook his head, she nodded hers before bouncing off and getting my coke for me, two seconds later and she was back at the table, she gave me my drink and I paid for it, she finally left.

"I need to stop this." I told him, but he shook his head.

"The only way to stop this is to let them die."


End file.
